When Darkness Becomes Light
by PenOfManyTalents
Summary: We all have a dark side, something we would rather ignore. But what if you couldn't? What if your darkness forced you to become a parasite to survive, to keep living? How would you cope? Could you turn your darkness into light and be a good guy? OCs


Okay, first crack. Wish me luck! O'Doherty, Murray, Dunne and the bar are mine, and should they be the actual names of people who live on Valentia Island, it's a coincidence. Pen Island is also fiction. I researched enough to get the general idea of things, but there will probably be errors.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my own characters and the plot; Hellboy and it's other characters belong to Dark Horse Comics and Mike Mignola; the movie belongs to Guillermo Del Toro and Columbia pictures.

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"So whaddaya make o' dese here attacks, Seamus?" Gregory O'Doherty, a brown-haired brown-eyed man, let the local newspaper fall down on the dingy, wooden pub table and grabbed his pint, looking at his buddy sitting across him. The pub, called The Rooster, was an old family business that'd been around for at least four generations in Knightstown, in the eastern parts of Valentia Island located just off the Iveragh Peninsula, southwest of the County Kerry in the southwest part of Ireland.

Knightstown is one of the island's largest and main settlement with a population of roughly 172. Luckily, there were tourists enjoying the small nightlife of the town, mostly packed into the pub. The walls of the house used to be white, but have since yellowed and gone murky grey-brown. The original wooden benches and tables are still there, dotted around the smooth cobblestone-like floor space of the establishment, easily seen from the bar counter itself. The barkeep was an elderly man, a bit on the plump side, with a five-o'clock shade on his face. He was dressed into a warm dark shirt (it was near impossible to tell the real color in the faint lighting of the pub, you see) and dark pants, a light apron and shoes. He was cleaning mugs with an indifferent look on his face, his actions on an auto-pilot from doing the same thing for years.

The bar was lively, it was only 9 o'clock in the evening, with music and chatter in different accents and languages, even. There was a fire in the fireplace, warming the air and welcoming all "weary travellers" in from the cold outside air. The barmaid, a lovely, full-figured lass by the name of Caroline, was moving about, chit-chatting with the customers and hauling pints to where they were ordered. She was the barkeeper's daughter, and every last man in Knightstown knew that disrespecting her would give them hell.

Seamus Murray was an able-bodied man in his early 30s, strong and healthy. His dark hair was hidden inside his hat, his jacket hung on the back of his chair while his woollen sweater provided him warmth. He wasn't pretty in the sense that you'd apply to the men in advertisements, but his rugged looks had attracted the eyes of quite a few females, locals and tourists alike. The man shrugged.

"Frankly speakin', I don't know. I hear Dunne's still upset 'bout one of his daughter bein' one o' de victims. Organizin' nuthin' short a mob, he is." Seamus nodded at the barkeep who eyeing every man with suspicion.

For two months, there had been random attacks on the populace of Knightstown. Women and men alike, and all with the same MOs. The victims were all found in a state of hysteria and lowered intellect, without any external or internal damage. All the victims have recovered fully in a matter of weeks, so far, and have described the attacks in a strange manner: all have reported that when they were attacked, they felt pleasure and euphoria before blacking out and regaining their wits weeks after. Reportedly, all the victims were low on some of their natural hormones. There had been no signs of sexual assault to the women's relief, but closer analysis of their clothes revealed that the victims themselves had been sexually aroused.

"Well, he got every right to do that. I'm tellin' you, Seamus, these attacks ain't normal." The other man snorted and took a swig of his beer.

"And the next thing we know, yer gonna tell me it's somehow, supernatural...!" Seamus mocked his friend who opted to glare at him.

"I'm telling you, there's something out of our grasp about these attacks! See, old man Griffin told me-"

"Old man Griffin? He's a senile old coot who thinks he's capt'n Ahab for God's sake!"

"Shut up for a second an' listen!" Gregory gave the man a pointed glare. Seamus leaned back and took a defiant sip of his beer. Okay, he'd listen, but he wasn't going to like it!

"Old man Griffin's been around for a while-"

"For centuries..." Another glare shut him up.

"-And he knows things about what's happened around here. Look, he told me that about 30 years ago, a young woman came here and tried to join the monastery up on Pen Island. Y'know, the one that near the ruins on Church Island? Anyways, she took her vows and began her life as a nun. But somehow, she ended up pregnant. At first they thought she had broken her vows, but since she hadn't left the island, they opted to believe that it was a bloody miracle or something. Come time to give birth to the buggers, somethin' went wrong. Griffin didn't say what was wrong with the kids, she gave birth to twins by the way, but he said that the children were all but ignored after that. Should anyone ask, they died in birth, but still the young woman would buy extra things to go with her if she was ever in Knightstown. Now, the nunnery was somehow destroyed 20 years ago, you remember?" Seamus nodded.

"They say it was a fire an' everyone died in it, but they could never really see where the fire had started from. Old man Griffin says that the souls of the nuns passed still remain in the ruins, and have begun to take revenge on us for not stopping the fire."

"That's bollocks."

"Well how else are ya explaining these attacks?!"

"I'm not! I just think that there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all o' this!" Seamus downed the last of his beer and stood up.

"And I gotta be heading home now. See you later, Greg." He took some money from his pockets and set it on the table to pay for his three pints. His friend grunted a farewell and Seamus was out the door, putting on his coat at the same time.

The outside air was still chilly and the wind blew from the ocean. He pulled up his collar and began his way to his house, admiring the dark night sky. Truth to be told, the attacks did worry him, and he unconsciously prepared himself to fight any assailant off that might try to hurt him. Turning to the alley leading to his house, he noticed that the streetlamp was broken. It made him slightly nervous, but he doubted anyone would be dumb enough to try and attack him, after all, he was a large man in stature.

A minor scuffle behind him made him turn around, his skin on goosebumps. No one seemed to be around, not on the streets or anywhere nearby. He hesitated, contemplating whether he should turn back and take another route or to continue ahead. Seamus mentally steeled himself and turned back, continuing his walk with a faster pace. He wasn't scared, nope, the cold sweat was just because the air was humid. Yes, that's it.

A sudden, strong yank made him stumble to the wall and shout in surprise. Before he could react, he felt a body against him and blearily saw a flash of something light yet dark at the same time, and a set of faintly glowing eyes. He shouted again, this time out of fear, and lifted his fist in attempt to hit this thing holding him. His hand was easily caught by something strong and wiry wrapping around his wrist, a hand coming to hold his other in place and the body of the attacker pinning him to the wall. Another hand came to his face, and all fight drained out of him, all of his fear replaced with content calm. Why was he fighting again?

"Forgive me..." The words, spoken in a surprisingly gentle and husky voice was all he heard before he felt lips on his, kissing him. A beautiful sensation of pleasure poured into him, filling him with hot need and made him hum his approval. He blearily marked that his assailant was a woman, judging from the softness pressed against him before his brain stopped registering anything but the euphoria he was experiencing. Slowly, so slowly his mind began to black out, his eyes closing and his body slid against the wall, pooling near boneless manner onto the street with a silly smile on his face.

The next morning Seamus Taegan Murray would be found in the alley, babbling gibberish and giggling to himself, a look of fulfilment on his face. One of the tourists would contact his friend in fear of being a victim himself, and his friend would take the matters a bit higher up the chain, and to the bureau that was specifically founded to investigate happenings of this manner.

And the hunt shall begin.

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And there's the prologue. More to come when I find the time to write. 


End file.
